I Remain, Your Most Faithful Servant
by Sherloqued
Summary: Whenever the Duke and Thomas are together, protocol is temporarily forgotten.
1. Chapter 1

I Remain, Your Most Faithful Servant - A Downton Abbey Fanfiction (Philip, The Duke of Crowborough and Thomas Barrow)

_"You must understand, Thomas. Beautiful Thomas. The strict societal rules that we live under, especially we of the so-called privileged classes. It isn't as perfect as you might believe. There are expectations, responsibilities, obligations; obligations handed down to me, that render my feelings irrelevant, such as whom I love, and which cannot be overcome."_

_Spring, 1912_

Once they were alone together, Thomas took off his livery-coat after putting down his suitcases, and poured them both a glass of His Grace's scotch, Philip noticed with a smile. A welcome sign of their familiarity, and too long awaited. A fire burned warmly in the fireplace. He was happy to let Thomas take the lead.

He relaxed as Thomas helped him out of his formal clothes and into his dressing gown and slippers, relaxed into Thomas' kisses and caresses.

They'd met at the Crawleys' London residence where he had been a guest, during the summer season, and where Thomas had been assigned to be his valet. Thomas Barrow. The son of a Manchester clockmaker who also for a time worked with his father repairing clocks (that somehow appealed to Philip, the intricacies of the workings of a clock, like the workings of a sharp mind) and first footman at Downton Abbey. Tall and elegant in his smart livery, befitting the status of a grand house, with black hair and smiling blue eyes full of fun, not the grey and sullen eyes of the man standing before him now. He was a wonderful dancer, modern and up-to-the minute with the latest thing, and a decent enough cricket player. Thomas took his responsibilities seriously though, and his eyes and demeanor never betrayed a thing when working; Philip had made these observations of Thomas discreetly. It had been most important to find someone who could be trusted.

Their limited and ever more anticipated chances at conversation, always punctuated by "Your Grace", but less and less of a barrier to them as they grew to know one another in more intimate and private moments, were refreshing in more ways than one, alleviating the boredom from the routine of social engagements and the endless number of eligible young women of suitable background paraded before him as potential marriage partners.

"I say Barrow, did you grow up in or around North Yorkshire?"

"Lancashire, Your Grace. Manchester."

"Ah, not too fair a distance by railway, eh? Do you miss it much?"

"Sometimes, Your Grace, yes."

"There's no need to be so formal, at least when we're alone. It's all quite tedious isn't it? My name is Philip. And I may call you...?"

"Thomas, Your Grace."

And in this way, they were even able to attend and enjoy events together without anyone so much as batting an eye over any impropriety, such as the boat races and garden parties, concerts, picnics, strolls through the Royal Parks. Their relationship had grown into quite a friendship and reckless infatuation over the summer months, even love, he'd daresay now. Too reckless; foolish heart.

When the Crawleys returned to the country at summer's end, he and Thomas corresponded regularly; whenever Thomas could get a chance to do an errand in the village and visit the post. There would be no easy way to break this to him. It killed him to hurt him in this way, not to mention the agony of possibly not ever seeing him again because of it. It wouldn't be the first time a man chose duty over his own happiness.

"So there it is, Thomas. I must marry and fulfill my obligations." he continued. "The estate is falling down around my ears. I'll have to find an heiress."

"But what about me?"

"I'll find someone so enamoured with title and position she won't even pay attention to me. An American!' he joked, looking up at Thomas with a sheepish grin, as he tried to make light of the situation, but Thomas wasn't smiling. At least until it became time to produce an heir.

"But you came here to be with me." Thomas insisted, slowly kissing his hands, his face, his lips, and, dissolving into his touch, the Duke of Crowborough began to find it difficult to concentrate on the matter at hand.

"Yes, among other reasons. And to offer my condolences to Lord Grantham, of course."

"And I want to be with you." Thomas said tenderly, looking up at him and smiling at him intimately, holding his gaze as he slowly kissed his hand and held it to his cheek, and then kissed it again, and Philip smiled back at him, and closed his eyes in exquisite pleasure. And the sight of Philip's pleasure pleased Thomas immensely. "I could be your valet."

Philip sighed, but he was resolute. "I just don't see how it can work, Thomas. And besides, one taste doesn't make the man, does it?"

"You must understand, Thomas. Beautiful Thomas. The strict societal rules that we live under, especially we of the so-called privileged classes. It isn't as perfect as you might believe. There are expectations, responsibilities, obligations; obligations handed down to me, that render my feelings irrelevant, such as whom I love, and which cannot be overcome."

He held out the sheaf of letters tied with ribbon he'd sent to Thomas over the months, and that his heart had leapt to know that Thomas had saved, meaning to toss them into the fire grate. _They had meant something to him._ He'd stolen them, really. If anyone ever found them, he'd be ruined. And so would Thomas be. He couldn't take that chance, for either one of them.

"If I ever thought you would use these against me...I'll deny it. And who do think they will believe?"

"Don't take them...please...I'd never..." Thomas faltered, in profound confusion and disappointment. "Give them back to me!"

"Then you must give me your solemn oath." Philip interrupted. "Noone must ever know. Swear it. And I will keep the letters safely for us."

"I swear it." Thomas said. He understood that it was a frightening prospect, being found out, the disgrace and condemnation, even prison. Surely that's what this must be about. But others didn't understand that it was a beautiful thing.

"And one more thing, Thomas." He should be ashamed with what he was about to propose next, but there was no other way. "I'd like you to stay tonight, if you still want to. I'd like us to continue our relationship, even so. Nothing has to change. I'm sorry, I know this is coming out all wrong, but I need our friendship. This life of mine is so...so isolating. Say you'll think about it."

But Thomas would not stay, although he did not know what he would do in the future. He gathered up his coat and dignity, and went upstairs, back to his room in the attic servants' quarters. Shaken, his heart trounced, but he calmed himself, held back tears.

Why was happiness always just beyond his grasp.

_tbc_


	2. Chapter 2

I Remain, Your Most Faithful Servant, Chapter 2 - An Unexpected Turn of Events

_Christmastime, 1912 - London_

Time to look lively; they'd need him any minute. In the light rain, Thomas finished a cigarette outside in moody silence, waiting for Lady Mary and Anna to finish with an appointment at the dressmaker's. He'd be on hand of course to carry packages and load boxes, open doors and hold umbrellas, protecting his Ladyship's hems from the wet, muddy and common streets. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets.

Still, as far as being in service went, he could do worse. He didn't meant to sound churlish and ungrateful. Lord and Lady Grantham were very decent to work for and quite generous; word was belowstairs that they had seen to the eye operation that Mrs. Patmore had so desperately needed. He looked forward to accompanying them or Mrs. Patmore to the village or to London; to see such fine things, if only from a distance. Fancy pastries and breads, teas, fine wines, jewel-feathered pheasants hanging up to age in butcher's shops. The fine men's tailoring of suits and shirts at Savile Row in Mayfair. The servants would usually be given time off to do their own shopping and errands then too, and he'd often send a letter to Philip. He loved London; and enjoyed having some time to himself.

There was no kinder soul than Anna Bates; he'd sometimes wince a little to think of how awfully he'd treated her husband when Mr. Bates first came to Downton. He'd said and done some things he wasn't very proud of. After Mr. Carson, Thomas was becoming a most trusted servant. He'd never do anything to jeopardize that.

Just before he was about to go back into the shop; he heard the sound of a car's engine. He looked over to see a Renault Landaulet pulling up a bit further down the street, and the chauffeur, an older gentleman, step out and enter a shop ahead of its passenger.

"Thomas."

Philip, wearing a dark charcoal grey overcoat over his suit, Homburg hat and grey leather winter gloves, stepped out of the car; discreetly waved him over. Thomas looked 'round briefly, then hunched his shoulders against rain that was turning to sleet and hurried over to him.

"Well, this is a pleasant surprise. Please, come in." Philip said, holding the car door for Thomas, and slipped in next to him.

"I only have a few minutes." Thomas said. "They'll be expecting me back soon."

"I'm afraid I'm not very good at keeping to my own rules, am I." Philip said, taking off his hat and gloves. "I've missed you, Thomas."

Thomas reached over and touched Philip's cheek, and pulled him close. "I'm glad to see you." he whispered.

"I read about your engagement in the papers."

"Yes, everyone agrees it's a good match. Especially Mother."

Looking cheerless, Philip turned to gaze out of the car window for a minute, then looked back to Thomas. "And no doubt you also read about the arrest of the famous writer for indecency too, did you?"

"I don't care." Thomas said, suddenly defiant. Philip took Thomas' hand in his. Thomas hadn't realized that he would make up his mnd right then and there.

Philip smiled though there was concern in his eyes, patted Thomas' hand. "I knew you would be this way...strong, brave enough...hoped...almost from the moment I laid eyes on you, going about as if you owned the place...I hope you are sure about this."

"You're not just very handsome, Thomas, but bright and capable. You deserve better than the mundane and ordinary."

"So does this mean I'm to be your valet?"

Philip smiled. "I had something more official in mind. I'd like you to be my personal assstant and assistant private secretary. A clerkship, to start. You'd be wonderful. And of course, it's a way that we could be together. We must do what we must do. You have my greatest affection, Thomas, and I want to make you happy. If it's something you would want. Will you accept."

Thomas was stunned; speechless, then overjoyed. Something he would want?_ Of course he would want it. _He could not question nor claim to understand the way the world worked sometimes, and those rich and powerful who controlled it. For once, he was on the right side of it. He didn't need to think twice.

"Yes...of course yes...I accept. I'm very grateful. I promise you, you won't regret it. I'll do my utmost best."

"Very good then. Now, if Lord Grantham will forgive me for stealing you away from his staff and we give a proper notice and take care of the particuars - salary, training, references, civil service examination - we can get started sometime after the Christmas holidays."

"So I wasn't just your eyes and ears at Downton?" Thomas grinned.

"No." Philip chuckled softy. "Certainly not." _You will be my eyes and ears, and heart, everywhere_.

Thomas drew him into a deep kiss, and Philip's lips parted, opening to his tongue, stroked Philip's thigh through his trousers. In the close confines of the back of the car, Thomas could smell the mild scent of the soap Philip used, or perhaps it was his cologne. He smelled wonderful, delicious.

They kissed and touched in the screened privacy of the backseat of the car, and Philip held Thomas' hand for a few more minutes, quietly together, the drizzle-streaked windows making the shoppers and passersby oblivious to them.

"I'd better go." Thomas said. He and Philip both exited the car, and after a moment or two the young Duke's chauffeur returned.

"Please give Lord and Lady Grantham my best wishes for a Happy Christmas, and Happy Christmas to you and your family as well." he said, putting on his gloves. "Well, I must be off. Terrible weather." The Duke of Crowborough's chauffeur opened an umbrella for him to protect him from the rain.

"I will. Happy Christmas to you and yours also. Best not to take chances in this weather, Your Grace."

_tbc_


End file.
